Saving You
by Nancy J. Lisse
Summary: You died on a Friday morning, exactly two years ago - New Year's Eve.  But every year when the clock strikes midnight, something inexplicable happens.  I get sent back... to save you.
1. Chapter 1

Hello everyone, this is my entry for the Chit Chat On Author's Corner - Round 7 - Happy New Year's Challenge. This is a two-shot.

Pairing: Emily/Rossi  
Items: Calendar flipping, streamers, fireworks  
Rating: M, for language  
Warning: Character death  
Disclaimer: I own nothing

This is AU, and my first attempt at some supernatural elements... Enjoy!

* * *

**Saving You**

* * *

**2012**

You died on a Friday morning.

Thinking back, it sickens me to know I was close enough to touch you. I could have reached out and pushed you, with all my strength, out of harm's way. Out of the path of the single .22 caliber bullet that took your life. Thinking back, I regret not doing so with every fiber of my being.

It brings me no comfort to know that in reality there was no way I could have stopped what happened.

Six men.

It's hard to keep six full-grown men under control, especially drugged-up grown men. Even with two steady-held guns trained on them, they outnumbered us, three to one.

The room was small and dirty. It smelled heavily of cocaine and feces, and I fought the strong urge to vomit on the soiled carpet. We raised our guns as the men rose from a decrepit couch, the floor, and a broken barstool in the far corner.

We just dove headfirst into something much larger and more sinister than I could have ever imagined. And backup was still five minutes out.

The longest five minutes of my life.

I don't think I've ever been so scared as I was in those fateful minutes, but I tried to keep my voice level, unperturbed as I directed them to get on their knees and place their hands on their heads.

I know now that was the worst mistake I could have made.

To this day, I don't know what I was thinking. I'd be dreaming to think we could have cuffed them all cleanly and ushered them outside one after another into the welcoming arms of ten or twenty local police officers.

I should have let you lead. You would have known that giving them the freedom of any movement at all only meant trouble. Standing where they were, at least we could see their hands were empty. Kneeling was basically an invitation to grab whatever weapon they could.

Hell, I should have known.

I was surprised at how calm they all were. None of them shouted. They didn't curse or scream or throw their weight around.

I supposed the calmness is what chilled me the most.

The calm before the storm.

The floor shook as the first dropped heavily to his knees.

"Slowly!" you shouted.

I watched as he placed his filthy hands on his balding head. I could see more bodies slowly lower themselves to the ground out of the corner of my eyes.

No one protested. No one attempted to escape.

It was too easy.

The rest is a blur. I remember the heat. It was hot and beads of perspiration formed at my hairline and in the palms of my hands. I remember feeling your presence less than a foot from me. You were tense. You knew as well as I did, that something was stewing, just seconds from bubbling out of control.

I remember scanning over them quickly. A little too quickly – it felt like the world was spinning wildly and I didn't have enough time to inspect each and every one of them.

You were repeating my instructions to the last one standing. I can still hear the bite in your voice, your 'don't fuck with me' tone. I'd give anything to hear it again. Even if that means I'm on the receiving end.

I turn slightly in the man's direction. Ever so slightly.

But that was enough. We were both too focused on the man refusing to drop to his knees. He was enough of a distraction to allow a single upward-angled shot to be fired from somewhere off to my left, out of my line of sight.

The pathetic, worthless piece-of-shit pulled a gun from his boot. And before I could get half a sentence out to the standing man in the corner, I heard it.

I heard the sound of my world ending. The deafening boom of realization. Of terror. Rage. Utter despair and heartbreak.

You fell in slow motion. Time and sound weren't matching up. I heard you hit the ground before I saw it. My brain was on overload.

For a millisecond I just wanted to unload my glock into each and every one of them. But what good would that do? Your blood was already soaking the carpet.

I responded with a bullet between his ugly gray eyes. But it didn't matter. I could have shot him a million times, it wouldn't erase the fact you had a bullet lodged in your chest.

That's when the chaos finally erupted.

Everyone was screaming and cursing. No one remained on their knees, they were all running. The front door, right behind me, flew open, crashing against the wall, breaking the glass. One of them might have fled through an open window. I can't really remember. I can only assume another went for the abandoned gun. But I may never know.

As I fell beside you, another gunshot resonated throughout the small room. And for a split second I thought I was hit.

My vision was blurry, my hands shaking violently. I didn't know where my gun was. I could barely see through the tears that threatened to spill over at any moment. I looked up from my hands and knees and witnessed our backup fly in from all directions and take down two of the six men. Someone else got shot, but it wasn't me.

Some days I wish it was.

You were breathing heavily, hands red with blood, trying to apply pressure to your own bullet wound. I pushed your hands away and replaced them with my own. My head was pounding. I closed my eyes tightly, vainly trying to clear my mind. I couldn't help you if I was panicking.

I pushed down on the wound and you hissed in pain. I 'hushed' you softly as you tried to swat my arms away, leaving bloody fingerprints on my skin. You were crying. It was first, and only, time I ever saw you cry.

A shadow hung over us. A man. He was on the phone, most likely calling for an ambulance. Maybe two.

He was thinking clearly, smart. That was going to help you, not me. I was only hurting you more. Your blood continued to seep through my fingers.

Why didn't I call for help? I wasn't thinking straight.

When your eyes fluttered and closed I practically screamed your name.

The sound of sirens grew closer and closer until it sounded as if they parked on the front stoop of the decaying house.

I brushed a strand of hair away from your face. My fingers left a trail of blood across your forehead and immediately regretted doing it. I was marring your features; no one should ever see you with blood on your face, your perfect face. You didn't deserve to be lying there, shaking, on the dirty floor of a crack house. You shouldn't have been dying there, slowly fading as I caused you pain when I pushed down.

You shouldn't have been there, period.

But you were. And so was I.

We ran into that house, on the heels of a suspect, with backup far behind.

We ran straight into hell.

Someone started tugging at my shirt. I shrugged them away, but before I knew it, two pairs of hands were pulling me away from you. And you away from me. I protested and grasped desperately for your hand. I called out your name again. Over and over until my throat was hoarse. I begged you to reach for me.

_Goddamnit Emily! Take my fucking hand!_

You never answered.

.

.

.

That day replays in my mind every day. Every single day of my life for the past two years.

Some days are worse than others.

Like today. It's New Year's Eve. 2012.

At 10:37am this morning, two years ago, I watched helplessly as your life seeped through my fingers. I couldn't do a damn thing to help you. The blood just flowed freely from your body. And it's all my fault. I've been told that I'm being irrational, but I don't buy it.

_I told them to kneel._

I take another long swig of the whiskey I am currently losing myself in. Bitter cold wind gusts in through the open window, making me shiver. I'm sitting on the cushioned seat below the open window, running my index finger around the brim of my glass.

My house phone rings. It's a quarter to midnight; I imagine its JJ, or maybe Garcia. They want to wish me some semblance of a happy New Year.

I let it go to voicemail.

I glance up at some decorations, which obviously were not my idea. Garcia showed up uninvited last night and took it upon herself to decorate. She knows as well as any of us, that this holiday isn't celebrated in my house anymore. But she wouldn't be Garcia if she didn't insist on making my living room look like a bomb filled with confetti went off. She hung aqua colored streamers over my fireplace and the picture of you that sits on the mantle.

Aqua was your favorite color. I wonder if she knew that, or if it's just a coincidence.

I take another sip and welcome the burn that the amber liquid brings as it slides down my throat.

It seems like a distant memory to me – a genuinely happy New Year.

But this year, I'm not spending the last day of 2012 alone because I'm unhappy. Granted I am; I am very, very unhappy.

But _something_ has been happening to me. Something I can't explain, not that I've really tried.

And I need to be alone; I need to do it right this time. I can fix everything.

This _phenomenon,_ of sorts, started the night after Emily died.

.

.

.

I spent the rest of that day locked away in my office. I didn't follow the ambulance to the hospital; it would have just been a waste of time. I ignored knocks on the door from colleagues, and phone calls from god-knows who.

My blinds were closed; no one witnessed me completely break down.

That night I stumbled in my front door just minutes before the New Year chimed in. Despite the advisement of others, I took the long way home. I pass my local pub when I take the long way home.

After about four hours at the bar I managed to make it into bed. I collapsed, in fact; I just had the most trying day, to say the least.

The last thing I remember was glancing at the clock.

11:59pm. _Happy fucking New Year._

I barely mumbled the words before I blacked out and was thrown forcefully into the worst dream I could imagine.

Or at least I thought it was a dream. I felt like I was literally trapped in a nightmare I couldn't wake up from.

I just rolled out of bed when the phone rang. I assumed it was Hotch calling, checking up. He knew I wasn't going straight home the night before. He knows me to well.

It's an understatement when I say I nearly, almost died when I heard the voice on the other end of the line. It wasn't Hotch.

"Dave?"

It was Emily.

I thought I was losing my mind. She was killed right in front of me. What was happening was impossible. Surely this was somebody's idea of a sick, twisted joke.

I almost dropped the phone on the floor as I scrambled to check my wristwatch.

The neon orange numbers mocked me as I frantically searched for the button to switch to the date. A near-silent beep sounded as I changed the screen on my watch.

December, 31 2010. _Holy shit._

I could barely hear Emily off in the distance, explaining the latest case to me.

A case I already knew about.

A case we already solved.

And I knew exactly how it ended.

Disbelief and shock rushed through me in waves, threatening to knock me right off my feet.

I didn't understand it.

And I wouldn't understand it.

I felt like I was having a terrible case of déjà vu, and as the morning wore on, closer and closer to that fateful moment, I had a sudden realization.

What if I was getting a second chance?

What if I was sent back to save her? If I could push Emily out of the way, I might just be able to save her life.

Turns out, it's not all that easy.

Fate is a difficult creature to contend with. It's not meant to be changed, but it is possible.

We were sprinting, the unsub a couple hundred yards ahead. Off in the distance I could see the house, and I knew this was it. This was my chance.

But I failed. I felt as if I had failed her all over again.

Fate was not going to make this easy for me.

Fate was the reason I fell on the front steps as we ran up to the house, hot on the trail of some derelict drug dealer. And fate was the reason the front door swung shut and locked behind her, leaving her alone with six muscular men, armed with only a gun and an attitude.

I was pounding on the door and put five rounds through the glass, praying I'd hit the man with the gun.

The others pulled up behind me as I was climbing through the hole I created in the door.

And that's when I heard it.

The sound of my world ending… again.

I broke down and cried right there on the dilapidated porch as the rest of the team and locals raced into the house. I pounded my fist against the siding. Pain radiated up my arm, I certainly just fractured a bone in my hand. Oddly enough, I welcomed the pain.

I cradled my hand as I leaned up against the side of the house.

It only took me a moment to decide I had to see her again.

I may have just missed my only chance to save her.

I stood up and stumbled into the eerily familiar room, and then fell again by her side.

And I cried some more.

The rest of the day was like living in a rerun on television. I went through the motions, not feeling anything; not caring. I felt completely empty inside. I was given a chance to save her, and I failed.

Once again, Hotch, Morgan, and Reid took turns advising me to head straight home.

I 'yes'd' them like I did before. But they all knew better than that.

I took the long way home again.

And by 11:59pm I was mumbling to myself again as I collapsed on my bed.

_Happy fucking New Year._

The next morning when I woke up, it was in fact 2011.

I missed my chance.

That's when the emptiness started sinking in. The sadness started eating away at my soul, leaving nothing but a shell that would never be filled again.

I spent the entire day in bed.

And the rest of the year dragged on monotonously. I wasn't happy. People noticed, but wouldn't say anything. But I'd hear the whispers.

I started drinking heavily again. It was my escape, it was the only way I could feel free. Bound by guilt and sadness, I welcomed the oblivion with open arms.

Days passed. Weeks turned into months, and before I knew it, the new year was upon us.

Hotch invited me to his place, but I declined. I wasn't up to putting on a smile. He didn't press the matter.

I spent the last minutes in 2011 all alone.

But it was nothing new; I was alone every day, all day. Even with coworkers and friends all around me, I still felt so utterly alone.

The last thing I remember was looking at the clock.

11:59pm. _God Emily, I miss you._

I barely closed my eyes when it happened again…

It felt like I had just closed my eyes when I woke to the shrilling sound my phone.

When I answered, my heart skipped a beat.

I couldn't believe it was happening – maybe I wasn't too late. I could still bring her back.

I barely listened to what Emily was saying as I raced out the door.

I decided tell her what was going on, it was the only way to save her.

But, naturally, time travel and premonitions aren't exactly easy to digest, even to the most open-minded. I pleaded with her, but she was having none of it. I was one outburst short of insanity, and Hotch was eyeing me like a hawk.

I backed off.

As it neared 10am, I still had no idea what I was going to do.

I was on high alert as we walked the street, where (I knew) we would eventually run into our unsub.

I called her name, as I leaned over to take a seat on the curb for a moment. I needed to clear my mind. I couldn't save her without a plan.

I couldn't lose her again.

Running my hands through my hair, I took a deep breath.

"Emily," I started, but didn't get to finish.

Fate was about to intervene again.

From where I stopped us, Emily was able to catch a glance at our unsub a few minutes early.

And before I could yell for her again, she took off after him.

Immediately I called for back up and chased after the two of them. I ran as fast as I could, knowing I was at a disadvantage.

I was going to fail her again. It was just too much.

Sweat poured down my face by the time I made it to the front stoop. Taking two steps at a time, I practically crashed through the front door.

But I was half a second too late.

Our guns fired almost simultaneously. But what mattered is that he fired first. He fired a single .22 into Emily's chest, and single-handedly brought my world to a screeching halt yet again.

Backup flooded through the door as I dropped to my knees by her side… again.

I tried with all my heart to will her back to life. Because nothing else was working. Hands pried me away from her as I cried. I ran my bloody hands through my hair, cursing this life.

It just wasn't fair. Either I find a way to save her, or I have to relive this tragedy every year. I couldn't stomach the thought.

I fought the inexplicable urge to shout 'I'm back' when I dragged my haggard body through the front doors of the bar that night.

It wouldn't mean much to anyone there, but it would mean a lot to me.

Just another reminder of my failure to protect Emily.

When I finally made it home, I let myself fall onto the bed. I buried my face into the pillows and tried to remember what happiness was.

It sure as hell ain't this.

I just want her back. Is that really so much to ask?

Half asleep at 11:59pm, I mumbled incoherently, even to myself.

_God Emily, I miss you._

2012 greeted me when I opened my eyes the next morning.

I sat up and listened.

Silence.

I waited some more, desperately hoping for a phone call… from her. But I knew better.

If I have any hopes of saving Emily, I would have to wait. A whole year.

Certainly easier said than done.

.

.

.

But that day has finally come.

The cold air bursts through the open window more forcefully now. My whiskey glass has long since been emptied, and I'm impatiently awaiting this phenomenon I've been experiencing for the past two years.

I'm nervous, yet slightly excited.

I can't wait to see her. I've missed her more than anything.

Over the years, even with her gone, I've grown feelings for her. It's kind of strange to think I've fallen in love with someone who is dead.

But then again, none of this is normal. I've traveled back in time, twice, to try and save the most amazing woman from meeting an untimely death. No one would believe me if I told them.

I gaze out the window at the city below. Soft music fills my ears. People walk along the streets, most likely talking. Although I can't actually hear them.

Fireworks explode into various shades of reds and purples, somewhere off in the distance. I hear the delayed 'crack' as the sound of the explosions reach my ears.

The stars are bright and I pause to make a wish; something I haven't done since I was a small boy, no older than nine.

My watch reads three minutes to midnight – December 31, 2012.

I stand and walk to the kitchen, and place the empty glass in the sink.

I wonder passively about the rest of the world. Men and women celebrating the coming of a brand new start, toasting to the years past. Everyone else will be flipping their calendar ahead to a brand new year.

But I'll be going back.

As I gently rest my head on my pillow, my clock flashes 11:59pm.

The last thing I remember is whispering softly to Emily.

_I know how to save you._

_

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_**To Be Continued...**

**

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**

Alright! Well, that's my longest single chapter, ever!

I really hope that I'm not confusing anyone here, with all the time jumps and stuff... if you are having any trouble keeping this timeline straight, PM me and I will help you. Or just leave a review to tell me that I'm confusing the hell out of my readers!

This is a two-shot, which I'm not 100% sure how this is going to end yet... I'm still working on it.

And honestly, it could be a week or so before the final installment is uploaded. It all rides on whether or not the Jets win against the Steelers sunday night. I work retail and if the Jets win I will be working seven days plus class, so I won't be able to write. If they lose, you'll get the chapter sometime next week.

Reviews are always wonderful!


	2. Chapter 2

Okay, it took a little longer than expected to get this chapter out... but these kind of supernatural stories are hard to write... kudos to all of those who write them, you're amazing writers.

Anywho, this concludes our two-shot.  
Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Enjoy!

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**Saving You**

* * *

It feels like merely seconds before I am thrown forcefully back into the world of consciousness. I roll to my side and take a deep breath.

_Ring. Ring. Ring._

My phone echoes loudly throughout the room, piercing my ears.

I bolt upright and fly off the bed, reaching for the phone, which lay haphazardly on my nightstand.

"Emily?" I question, as soon I answer the call. I kick myself mentally for sounding so paranoid.

I suspect my tone of voice will not go unnoticed.

It doesn't.

"Yeah. Dave, is everything alright?"

_No._

"Yes, everything is fine."

Of course it's a lie. Nothing is alright; nothing has been alright for a long time. But I keep these thoughts to myself, at least until I have a more concrete idea of how to go about this situation.

She lets it go, for now, and starts relaying the details of our case.

But I'm not listening. I don't need to listen.

I already know. I know all too well.

She continues talking, and I find myself lost in her voice. It seems like a lifetime ago since I've heard her confident, alluring drawl. It's silky smooth, yet with an edge. I am entranced.

_God, I've missed you so much._

I'm silent as she speaks, gathering everything I'll need for the day. I just want her to keep rambling; I find comfort in listening to her.

She finally says 'goodbye' and hangs up, but I keep the phone to my ear. I'm lost in thought until I hear the operator cut through my reverie.

"I'm sorry, if you would like to make a call, please hang-"

I cut her off as I sit on the edge of my bed.

Today's the day.

This is it; I don't know how much longer I can go on failing her.

Fate has won in the past, but I am prepared for everything this time. At least I'd like to think so. If I fail again, I really don't know what else I could possibly do. I'm running out of options, but I try not to dwell on that fact.

This Hell I've been living stops today.

Today, Emily lives.

Sunlight starts to beat through a window by the bed as the sun slowly breaks the horizon. I rush to the dresser. Socks and shoes go on quickly, my suit jacket last.

I'm mulling over the day in my head and I glance at my watch. In less than three hours Emily's life will be in my hands.

And I'll be damned if I let her slip through my fingers again.

I flip the switch on the wall as I enter my home office. I am under the scrutiny of the light's harsh glow as I race around, fumbling through drawers.

I know what I have to do, but it doesn't make it any easier.

I don't even know if it will work.

Fate is a funny thing.

The floor is littered with sheets of paper, rubber bands, and ink cartridges by the time I locate it.

I hold it tightly in my hand for a moment, wondering if this is really the right thing to do, before is shove it in my jacket pocket.

_It's the only thing I can do._

.

.

.

The FBI building is crowded with people, moseying around with coffees and breakfast in their hands. The chatter of colleagues and friends surrounds me as I ride up in the small elevator.

I am eager to get away from their mundane conversations.

I answer a few 'good mornings' as I make my way through the glass doors and into the bullpen.

My breath catches in my throat. My body threatens to collapse as my knees nearly buckle at the sight before me.

There she is.

Sitting at her desk, her back to me, it feels like a dream. One of many dreams I've had of her; of holding her in my arms, touching her face, just watching her move as she walks.

I don't know if she feels my presence, but she turns in her chair.

I try to compose myself, and I smile.

It's a sad smile, but it's full of hope.

I can still save her.

My steps are steady and even as I make my way over to her. The chair creaks quietly as she stands.

"Are you sure everything is okay?" she asks as I drop my briefcase on the gray carpet.

And because I simply cannot help myself, I engulf her small frame in a hug.

One, David Rossi, is not one to display public affection for his coworkers. Well, for anyone for that matter. But these are certainly exigent circumstances. Even if no one else but me knows it.

We've definitely caught the attention of the rest of the room; I can practically feel two-dozen sets of eyes burning into the back of my skull.

She doesn't reciprocate the embrace at first, but after a stunned moment on her part, she eases into my arms.

I'm astounded at how well we fit together.

And yet, I am ashamed it has taken all this time and suffering for me to do this.

She murmurs into my chest.

"Something is definitely wrong."

I don't answer, but I slowly release her from my grasp.

"Dave, you can talk to me, you know," she continues, her eyes shifting to the handful of people still lingering, watching the two of us.

"I know," I respond sullenly.

I barely resist the overwhelming urge to gather her up in my arms again, to just hold her here forever.

She eyes me suspiciously, but I don't elaborate.

Anything I say right now will be futile. She would call me crazy, paranoid. Then she'd turn and leave me standing here, alone and hurt.

I would know, I've already tried.

When we get in the SUV, maybe then I'll try to reason with her. But I know already, it's going to be useless.

"We'll talk later," I say, as if it's the end of our conversation, but I make no move to leave her presence.

I just can't take my eyes off her.

She goes to respond; maybe to tell me that I'm creeping her out, but Hotch interrupts just in time.

"Conference room in five."

And he disappears back into his office.

Reid and Morgan brush past us, pretending not to acknowledge the awkwardness I'm starting to feel.

Emily walks away first, before throwing a worried glance over her shoulder.

"You coming?"

"Um, yeah, I'll be right there," I look around, and everyone else has gone about their business.

I'm rooted to the spot, as Emily disappears through the door. I gather up my briefcase and enter my office, setting it on my desk before following closely on JJ's heels into the conference room.

.

.

.

The car ride is silent.

Soft breathing is all that I hear.

She catches me steal yet another sideways glance at her.

"Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?" she's getting angry at my evasiveness.

But hell, what am I supposed to say? 'Emily, you're going to get shot. And you're going to die. But I've come back in time to save you, because I can't go another day knowing I watched you're life seep through my fingers. I've come back because I love you.'

_Yeah, right._

No one would ever believe that. I'm still not sure I even believe it.

So I settle on something a bit more plausible.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me," she challenged.

"I don't know, Emily… I just-"

I start perspiring, my hands start to feel slick on the steering wheel. I wipe them, one at a time, on my pant legs; and turn off the heat.

"I just have a really bad feeling about today. I can't explain it, but this isn't going to end well."

"Dave, what are you talking about? We're going to interview a witness. That's it."

"No. That's not it. Someone is going to get hurt, trust me, I just know it."

I look over at her incredulous expression. She's not buying it. She probably thinks I'm crazy… and I didn't even tell her about the time travelling.

That'll land me in the loony bin for sure.

I feel her gaze on me as I park the Suburban by the curb. Her seatbelt clicks as she unfastens it and opens her door.

I'm starting to panic. This is it. These next moments have plagued my life for two years. I scan the area, my eyes constantly shifting. I don't see anyone yet. I outline of my cell phone in my pocket is slightly reassuring.

I'll be calling for backup early; I won't make that mistake again.

The calm breeze rustles the trees; the sky is gray with clouds.

It seems like the perfect winter afternoon. It's anything but.

The alarm beeps as I lock it and jog up to Emily, who is already turning the corner.

"Wait! I can't let you do this."

I grab her arm, but she briskly pulls it away. She continues down the sidewalk of the dilapidated neighborhood.

Every house has a window or two broken, garbage and rusting metal litter many of the lawns. It smells like rotting food, even out in the open.

"Really Dave, knock it off. This is just a routine interview; I don't know what's gotten you so wound up. You of all people…"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

She sighs, and stops.

I reach for her arm again, more gently this time, and spin her to face me.

"I don't know," she continues, her head tilted toward the ground. She shifts on her feet, and I can feel her uneasiness. "I'm sorry, I'm just worried about you. You seem so… off. You're distant, and that hurts. You won't talk to me, and that hurts worse."

"Em, it's like I said, if I told you, you wouldn't believe me. I don't mean to push you away. And don't be worried about me; I'm more worried about you. I don't want to lose you again."

The word slips out before I could catch myself.

"Again?" she surely believes she didn't hear me correctly. "What are you talking about? And don't give me that bullshit about me not believing you."

I put my hands in my jacket pockets and rock on my heels.

"You're going to get shot. Today. If I let you go in that house."

I point down the street; I can't see the decrepit building from here, but I know exactly where it is. I see it every night in my sleep. It haunts me.

There are no words to describe the series of expressions that wash over her face. From awe to disbelief to anger, maybe back to awe and a little bit of disgust. I can't tell.

"I know it sounds crazy, but it's true. And I can't stand to lose you again. I have to save you! Listen, there's a guy, he's going to come out from behind the house that we're supposed to interview. You're going to chase after him, and get yourself killed damnit! I can't let that happen!"

She's shaking her head, almost violently. Then she starts yelling.

"Stop it! Just stop! I don't know what you're trying to pull, if you're trying to be funny, or if you're just plain stupid. I don't know what's going on with you today, but quite frankly it's scaring me. This isn't you!"

"You're right, this isn't me… this is me in 2012, after living two years of my life without you. _This_ is what I am trying to avoid becoming. If you would just trust-"

"No!" I can see her eyes shine with fresh tears that threaten to spill over. She is genuinely scared. I don't blame her; this isn't a normal situation.

"You know what, just go back to the car. I'll do the interview myself."

And that's when I see him. A hooded figure, tall, face obscured, slinks out into the open between two houses across the street. The house we were headed for, to interview a witness. He's not running yet, I don't think he's seen us.

I grab Emily's wrist again. I keep a tight hold on it.

"What are-"

"Shh shh, look," I whisper in her ear, pulling her close to me.

I reach my free hand into my pocket.

"Hey, FBI!" she yells at him and attempts to break free from me. But I've got a tight grip on her. I can't let her go running after him.

Sure enough, the man takes off.

"Rossi what the fuck are you doing?"

Guilt floods my heart, like a dam bursting open. I have to tell myself over and over – this is going to save her.

"Emily, stop! I love you!"

Her head flings in my direction, and she stops trying to run.

"What?" is the last thing she says before I hit her with my taser.

I send the low-grade electric charge into her side. She shakes for a second, losing consciousness, and I catch her against my chest as she starts to fall.

I can't express the amount of guilt I feel right now. But I'd rather her hate me for the rest of my life, than go on living without her at all.

I lift her slender frame into my arms; her head lolls against my chest as I run back to the SUV. I slip her inside and slam the door before I sprint back the other way.

Running as fast as I possibly can, I can make out the hooded figure off in the distance. Breathing heavily, I pull out my phone and call for backup. As I approach the house, I slow down and try to catch my breath. I'm cautious as I climb the front stoop. Careful not to make any noise.

No one seems to be inside, but I sure as hell know better. I don't hear the sound of doors opening, or people running. No one is yelling or even talking, from what I can hear.

Entering alone would be suicide, but I can't let my guard down. I can't let any of them escape.

The faint sound of sirens falls upon my ears. They can probably hear it too. If I don't act now, they'll scatter.

The door creaks as I slip inside. I stay flat against the wall, praying none of the men spot me. When I reach the corner, I can see the six men.

They're not panicking. Either they're too doped up to care, or they can't hear the sirens steadily getting closer.

The familiar sound of screeching tires reaches my ears. Car doors slam outside, and I decide to make my move.

"FBI, everybody freeze!"

The men don't heed my warning, and they slowly rise to their feet. One of the men, the bastard that killed Emily, reaches down to his waistband, and I can't help but think I just carved my own headstone.

"I said freeze asshole!"

And it's not seconds later when backup crashes through the door. The men attempt to flee, but are taken down by local LEOs. Yelling, cursing resonate throughout the small room. I exit back out the front door, not being able to withstand the smell of that place any longer.

I make my way down the porch, and lean against the side of the house. My heart is beating out of my chest. I just looked death straight in the cold, grey eyes. I know that man wouldn't have hesitated to shoot me.

And then relief spreads through my body. I feel like a weight has been lifted off my chest. Like someone finally, after two years, stopped squeezing my heart. I want to let my knees buckle, and just fall the ground and cry. Tears of joy.

I don't care who sees me.

But I can't. I have to go get Emily.

I have to know that she's safe.

I start to run back to the car when I'm stopped by a familiar voice.

"Dave! Where are you going? Where is Prentiss?"

"She's in the SUV," I yell back to him, and start running again.

I can barely hear him as he shouts back to me.

"What? Why?"

I don't answer.

And just as quickly as I had felt relief, my heart drops to my feet.

The back seat, where I laid Emily is empty.

I slam my fists against the window. Again and again. And again.

My tears flow freely. I don't know what else I could have done.

I have no idea where she is or what happened to her.

"Fuck! Goddamnit, I don't know what else I'm supposed to do!"

I'm yelling to no one, but yet I'm expecting an answer.

And to my disbelief, I get one.

"You're supposed to be telling me what the hell is going on."

It's Emily.

Wet streaks stain my face, but I don't bother to wipe them away. My feet scuff on the ground as I make my way to the rear of the Suburban. I'm cautious, not knowing what to expect.

She sounds extremely angry.

But she also sounds very much _alive_.

Sitting on the back bumper, her hand is massaging her side where the taser struck her.

"It's going to be sore for a while," I comment. But I probably shouldn't have said anything.

"No shit," she retorts. "Why the fuck did you taser me Dave? And then go off on your own? You don't get to decide what I can and cannot do! And you sure as hell don't have a right to knock me out and then go into battle alone. You're no superhero, Dave. You could have been killed!"

I'm silent as I listen to her venting. Her voice is raised ever so slightly. She's pissed, and she's hurt.

"We should get you checked out Em," I decide on something safe. I can't answer any of the questions she just hurled at me. There really isn't a right answer to any of them.

She surprises me with what she says next.

"And let the whole team know you tasered me and locked me in the car? I don't think so; we can keep this between us."

She's calmer now. I don't think she ever wanted me to answer her onslaught of questions anyway. Deep down I feel she knows the truth. Deep down she believes me, and everything that I told her.

She knows I saved her life. But she's not ready to admit it yet.

Some concepts are just too difficult to grasp.

I sit down next to her.

I start to pick at my nail beds – a nervous habit I picked up when I was in college.

Pangs of guilt still wrack my chest, but the feeling of peace and redemption is beginning to overpower it.

And most importantly, the feeling of love.

Maybe now, I will be able to explore this feeling. _Really_ explore it.

Seemingly reading my mind, a warm hand covers my own, preventing me from engaging in my habit.

"You said you loved me," it was almost a whisper.

"I did, and I mean it."

A comfortable silence falls between us again.

It's quite wonderful actually. Her hand in mine, relaxing, staring up at the sky as birds fly in formation, heading wherever they desire.

"How amazing it would be to be so free like a bird?" she asks absentmindedly. "To go anywhere in the world, and not have to answer to a soul."

"Emily," I begin, I catch her eyes. Her beautiful eyes. "I know you don't completely understand, but… I just want you to know that this is what was meant to happen. And I've waited too long to tell you how I really feel about you. I've lost so much; I can't fathom losing you. Especially before we even get to start anything."

A smile plays on her lips.

"What are you proposing we start, Agent Rossi?"

"Ohh, so I'm 'Agent Rossi' now?"

She laughs out loud and I watch her as she pushes her dark hair away from her face.

I move my hands out from under hers and grasp hers tightly, turning until our knees touch. I rub small circles in her palms and I can feel the electricity between us. I feel the uncontrollable urge to lean in and kiss her.

I look up, and she's watching me. Her dark orbs reach deep into my soul, and I am captivated.

I finally give into the urge, and dip my head down to hers. Our lips brush, such a feather light touch, when the shrill of a cell phone disrupts this perfect moment.

I sigh and rest my forehead against hers.

"It's Hotch," she reads off the caller ID. "He's probably wondering where we are. What are we going to tell him?"

To be honest I have no idea. I stand and reach for her hand; I pull her up.

"We'll think of something."

.

.

.

Back at the office, I pack up to go home. Garcia has already extended invitations for a New Year's Eve party, but I respectfully decline.

I've had quite the emotional day.

I'm making my way down the couple steps into the bullpen; Emily is shutting down her computer.

"Are you going out with Garcia and the rest of them?" she asks without looking up.

I smile. I can't help but smile; everything about this woman is just driving me insane.

"No, I'm getting too old for all-night partying. You?"

She chuckles and shakes her head.

"Something about being tasered, it just makes you so tired."

Emily throws a playful wink in my direction.

She reaches over to the lamp. With a soft click, her desk is blanketed in darkness.

"Come over," I sputter.

Butterflies, or whatever people call it, flutter around in my stomach. I feel like a teenager asking out his first date.

I'm willing her to say 'yes'.

_Please say yes._

I'm almost too paranoid to let her out of my sight ever again. Afraid that if I do, I might lose her forever.

"Okay," she smiles.

And so I take the short way home.

.

.

.

I offer her a drink as we walk through my front door.

I take her go bag and tuck it away in the hall closet. We rid ourselves of our coats.

Emily starts with the fire as I tend bar. She's got it going by the time I join her, sitting on the edge of the fireplace. The heat from the flames warms our backs.

After handing her a glass of scotch, I wrap my arm around her waist, pulling her close to me.

"It's almost midnight," she points out the obvious.

11:59pm

I sit my glass down beside me. Reaching up, I rest my hand under her chin, and tilt her head up to mine.

And to ring in the New Year, I capture her soft lips with mine.

_Happy New Year, Emily._

.

.

.

I groan as I wake.

I can't remember the last thing that happened before I passed out on my bed. In fact, I can't recall the last 24 hours, or the last week…

My brain is in a fog, as I lie here, motionless. I'm rolled on my left side, staring off the edge of the bed to the dresser. My clock stares vacantly at me. It's early morning, the sun just barely over the horizon, a thin stream of light slowly making its way down my far wall.

I'm disoriented; my head is pounding.

I glance again at my radio clock, in an attempt to ascertain some kind of indication of time.

It reads 7:12am. Tuesday, January 1st.

2013.

I turn more, nearly lying on my stomach; I press my face into my pillow.

I take a deep breath, as if I was drowning and have just now reached air.

The pillow smells sweet. It's familiar, yet foreign. And it's incredible; I don't want to movie, if I could just breathe this scent in forever, I would.

They say smell is the weakest sense.

But it sure stirs some powerful memories.

Flashes of my life appear before my eyes. Familiar faces – Hotch, Reid, Emily. But I'm also seeing things that I don't recall happening. It's as if the past few years of my life are a blur.

Contradicting images. I feel like I'm watching two lives pass before me simultaneously.

One extremely happy, one unbearably sad.

I inhale again, and that's when it clicks.

Emily.

I sit up slowly, bringing the pillow with me, breathing her in once more.

Pulling it away from my face, immediately missing the scent, I glance over to the other side of the mattress.

A figure is lying there.

_Emily_ is lying there.

The steady rise and fall of her chest tells me she's sleeping.

It tells me she's _alive_.

And now I remember. I remember her death, living without her. Failing her.

But then I remember saving her.

By some act of god, or maybe fate, I was given a second chance, and a third to save her life.

But my memory of the past two years still remains fuzzy.

All I do know is that the universe is balanced now. It wasn't her time to go.

She belongs here, with me.

I lean over her, stroking her hair, taking in the scene before me. Her hair is longer now, lighter. I place my hand on her chest; I detect the flutter of her heart.

The most wonderful feeling.

She stirs, straightening on her back, smiling up at me as I hover over her.

"Hey," her voice is small. Her hand reaches up to caress my face.

I lean into her touch.

Sunlight continues to stream down on us, a glimmer reflects off something on her hand.

A wedding ring.

She reads my expression; I am surprised, to say the least.

A lot _has _happened these past two years. For a second, I'm disappointed I've missed so much of our lives together. I just can't quite remember all of it yet. Maybe soon, it'll come back to me.

Better late than never.

"Mrs. Rossi," I half question, half state.

She mumbles her response, sleep still eminent in her perfect features.

"I love you," I lean in to capture her lips.

"Forever."

.

.

.

"_There's much to be said for challenging fate instead of ducking behind it." – Diana Trilling_

_

* * *

_**Fin.**

**

* * *

**Alright, I hope this was a satisfactory ending. I don't know, I can't help but feel it was a little lame? I went into this story, unsure of how to end it, which I really shouldn't do - in case I just can't finish it - which almost happened here. Then it crossed my mind to have fate really be a bitch, but I felt like having a happy ending. Hopefully it works! And hopefully Rossi wasn't too OOC, at points I feel he is.

Please review, that would be amazing of you!

Jessalynn


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